


Netted

by Batshit_Bogs



Series: Why Adopt Kids When You Can Adopt Merpeople [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: (?), Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Angst, Blood and Injury, Bruce Wayne is a Sad Parent, Dick Grayson-centric, Dick is a good big bro, Dick is in full panic mode, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, compared to my actual angst fics this is fluff lmaooooo, depends if it's what the people want, he has absolutely no idea what's going on, idk if this can be classified as hurt/comfort, like add chapters or somethin, now with a 2nd chapter, this is shorter than my usual fics but I might do a part 2, writing little mer Tim is so much fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batshit_Bogs/pseuds/Batshit_Bogs
Summary: Dick braces himself as he arches over the spur, the algaes covering it soft under his palms. The small shape in the net is so badly tangled that it’s hard to see it clearly, but the orange scales give it away.“Tim!”-Tim isn't where he usually is, and Dick finds out why. He's just glad he found Tim when he did.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Why Adopt Kids When You Can Adopt Merpeople [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976269
Comments: 77
Kudos: 419





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A lil something. A little angst, a lot of worry, a little comfort as a treat. Edited by my amazing friend, they keep my fics from devolving into an unintelligible mess. With everything I write, my grip on the english language slips a little more.
> 
> **CWs**  
>  _\- mild injury  
>  \- light blood mentions  
> \- near suffocation_
> 
> If I missed anything let me knoowwwwww

Dick whistles as he surfs the cresting waves on the ocean’s surface. A storm is brewing, churning the water into the perfect conditions for some fun. He launches out of one wave, straight into another, then does it two more times in rapid succession. The seaspray, the cutting wind, the push and pull of the currents… it feels _great._

Maybe Tim will be up for some fun when Dick gets to him. It’s been a couple days since he’s last seen the little pup, as the Drake pod came back to the bay, and truth be told he misses him. He’s only known Tim for a little over a month, and he’s already emotionally adopted him.

(He tries not to think about the brother he lost, the one he didn’t spend enough time with. He tries not to think about how he’s trying to rectify his mistake through someone else.)

Dick dives beneath the waves’ pulls as he nears where Tim lives. Every time he sees the little cave in the cliff wall, his heart constricts - no pup should have to spend their days alone, hiding in a tiny excuse for a home. Mer homes are rare as it is, but when mers do find a place to settle down, it’s somewhere spacious. Reefs, cave systems, trenches. Not a glorified indent.

“ _Tim?”_ Dick calls as he gets closer to the sea floor. “ _You here, pup?”_

According to Bruce, the Drake pod left yesterday. Hopefully (Dick hates himself for thinking it) they left Tim in the bay, as per the usual. 

“ _Timmy,”_ Dick sings, reaching the cave. The water is dingy with kicked up sand and the dark gloom that always comes with storms. He peers into the cave and can’t help a tiny smile at how it’s decorated. There’re kelp braids hanging from the ceiling, what looks like a sea glass collection in the corner, and colorful seashells embedded in the edges of the sand bed. Tim isn’t here, though, so he must be out trying to catch some fish. He isn’t a very good hunter, so Dick came expecting to catch some food for him.

Dick starts combing through the rock formations around the cave, looking for a hint of orange scales. His amusement quickly gives way to concern as the minutes drag on without a hint of his little friend. Maybe Tim left with his parents, either for a trip, or… well, Tim had mentioned that his living situation was supposed to be temporary.

The concern fades into disappointment. Dick stops where the seagrass field starts and sighs. If Tim really is with his parents, Dick hopes he’s doing okay.

The currents shift as he starts to leave the area to go back home. Something sharp smelling drifts into his nose, and Dick freezes.

Mer blood.

Dick whips around and immediately starts following the trail. It’s faint, which hopefully means the injury is minor, and not that it’s far away. Whoever is injured (don’t be Tim, please don’t be Tim) is in danger either way - sharks have a sharper sense of smell than humans think, not to mention all the other predators that would love to find a lone, injured mer.

“ _Hello?”_ Dick whistles as the smell gets stronger. He thinks he sees a form in the distance, wedged between a few large rock shelves, but he can’t be sure. He tries again, this time using the squeak mers use to locate each other.

After a moment, there’s an answering squawk. It’s quiet, and feeble, but it’s there.

It sounds like it’s from a whelp.

Dick speeds up, and his gills flutter as the shape comes into full view.

It’s a net - a _plastic_ net, even worse - caught on a rock spur. Whatever’s caught in it is behind the rock, and it isn’t moving. 

Dick braces himself as he arches over the spur, the algaes covering it soft under his palms. The small shape in the net is so badly tangled that it’s hard to see it clearly, but the orange scales give it away.

“ _Tim!”_ Dick cries, his heart leaping into his throat. He all but throws himself down to the sand next to the net, scraping his tail on the rock in the process. Not that he even notices, he’s too focused on making sure he isn’t about to lose another brother.

Tim is completely encased in the net, so much so that his arms are in odd positions and his tail is doubled on itself. Even worse, it looks like some of his gills are pinned shut, and the ropes are cutting into his skin in some places. There’s a particularly deep slice in his tail.

“ _Tim, are you with me?”_ Dick’s hands flutter uselessly over Tim’s small form. There’s nothing he can do. His claws and teeth can’t cut through plastic, and by the sound of Tim’s raspy wheezes, he’s suffocating. “ _Talk to me,_ _please_. _”_

Tim opens a pain-glazed eye. His face crumples as he focuses on Dick, and he claws weakly at the sand with one hand. “ _Grayson?”_

_“Yeah, it’s me, Tim. I’m gonna get you help, okay?”_

Tim nods, and his eye slides shut. Dick has to get him to the research center, and fast. Not only can Bruce help, but Leslie is there today, and no one is more qualified for the care of ocean life than her. 

But Dick will have to be careful with how he does this. Going about this wrong could cut off Tim’s breathing completely, or the net could make his injuries worse. 

Fuck… how long has Tim _been_ here? 

Dick shakes his head. It’s not the time to think, it’s the time to act. 

“ _I’m going to move you,”_ he says as he goes to where the net is caught on the rock. It takes some unentangling, and Tim squeaks a couple of times, but Dick manages to get it loose. He carefully gathers the loose netting into his arms, along with Tim. 

“ _Sorry, I’m sorry,”_ Dick whispers as Tim lets out a quiet sob. “ _I’m so sorry, pup, just hang on.”_

Getting back to the center takes longer than Dick would like. He’s forgoing speed for making sure the net doesn’t seal Tim’s gills shut. That would be less of a problem if the surface were calm, but Tim could very well drown if he used his lungs up there. 

Dick can feel every weak breath Tim takes, each flinch. It hurts him on a level he didn’t expect, but he doesn’t stop to check on Tim like he so wants to. They’re almost there. They’re _so close._

The center’s tunnel comes into view, and Dick can’t help but sigh in relief. It’ll be a cramped space until they reach the grotto, and from there the tunnels will be much more spacious. Dick whispers apologies as he shifts Tim in his arms. 

They get through the grotto before he stops breathing completely. 

Tim jerks, and his claws scrabble weakly at Dick’s arm, and Dick realizes with another spike of fear through his heart that he can’t feel gills moving against his chest. He spares one glance down, and nearly forgets how to breathe himself.

The net has sealed Tim's gills shut. They’re out of time. 

“ _Hang on, Tim, hang on,”_ Dick pleads, forgoing caution to speed through the tunnel leading to the sleeping pool. “ _We’re almost there.”_

They breach through the tunnel, into the pool, and Dick immediately flips onto his back. He keeps an arm looped around Tim, lifting his head above water.

“ _Tim, you gotta use your lungs,”_ Dick says. _“You’re above water now, okay? Breathe for me, c’mon.”_

Finally, _finally,_ Tim makes a choking sound and gasps in a lungful of air. Dick feels like he can finally breathe again himself.

Now that Tim _isn’t_ in immediate danger of dying, Dick yells as loud as he can, “BRUCE! ALFRED, ANYONE! I NEED HELP!”

He doesn’t have to wait long until Alfred is rushing into the dimly lit room. “Master Dick, what on earth is - oh my.”

“Alf,” Dick gasps, adjusting his grip on Tim, “he’s hurt, and I - I can’t get him out.”

“Bring him to the medical bay -”

“I can’t. The net...it’s trapped his gills.”

Alfred nods sharply. “I’ll be right back.” 

He hurries away, faster than Dick has ever seen him move - he’s a step away from running. While he’s waiting, Dick places Tim on the raised ledge in the pool, where he can lay without worrying about drowning. 

“ _Help is almost here,”_ Dick says, brushing Tim’s hair back from his face with his claws through the netting. “ _You’re doing great, Tim.”_

Tim is trembling, and his chest strains against the ropes with each breath. He’s not suffocating, but he can’t be getting enough oxygen like this. It’s all Dick can do to murmur reassurances and offer what little comfort he can.

“Dick?”

Dick looks up to see Bruce skidding into the room. His face goes white as he catches sight of the net-encased mer in the pool.

“I can’t bring him through the tunnels,” Dick says as he rushes over. “You need to carry him.”

He can see the hesitation in Bruce’s eyes, and hates that he understands. The last time Bruce held a mer was… it was when he brought what was left of Jason home. 

Dick reaches out and squeezes Bruce’s arm. “He needs you, Bruce. Please.”

The haunted look doesn’t leave Bruce’s eyes, but he gathers Tim in his arms and rushes out of the room. Dick tries not to cry out after him, his heart rate spiking as Tim leaves his sight, and he forces himself to dive back into the tunnels. It only takes a minute to surface in the tank in the medic’s room. 

It’s full of movement. Leslie, Alfred, and a couple of staff are hurrying around, prepping machines and gathering supplies. Tim is on a medical table, with Bruce standing over him, sawing through the plastic net with a knife. 

“Is he okay?” Dick asks, realizing that Tim isn’t moving. 

“He will be,” Leslie answers. She stops by the table and helps pull off each section of net that Bruce cuts free. 

Bruce sucks in air through his teeth and says, “It’s stuck in his tail.”

Leslie swears under her breath. Dick clutches the rim of the tank tighter, unable to peel his eyes from the ropes in the deep slice on Tim’s tail. The wound is ugly, and some of the scales around it are missing. The skin beneath is irritated, like the scales had been pried off. 

If Tim had been thrashing when he first got caught in the net, it would explain the missing scales and how entangled he is. 

Dick winces as Leslie and an assistant (Cora, he remembers) get to work on getting the ropes out of Tim’s wound. He can’t help a protective hiss when Tim lets out a few pained whimpers and jerks, even in his sleep. Cora nervously glances over their shoulder at him, but Leslie nudges them and they go back to work.

“Master Dick,” Alfred says, coming up to the tank, “perhaps you’d be more comfortable waiting elsewhere?”

“I’m not leaving him,” Dick says more harshly than intended. 

Bruce sighs as he comes up on Alfred’s other side. “Dick -”

“I’m. Not. Leaving. What about when he wakes up, huh? He barely understands English, and he’ll be in an unfamiliar place surrounded by humans. I _need_ to be here.”

Bruce presses his lips in a line, but he nods. Alfred sighs and mutters something about getting the recovery pool room ready before leaving. 

“Sutures,” Leslie says, holding out her hand so that Cora can drop the needed supplies into her palm. The netting has finally been removed, leaving the wound on full display, as well as the rope burn and shallow lacerations elsewhere on his body. It doesn’t look like his gills are injured beyond bruising, which is a relief. Sliced gills are a bitch to deal with. 

Still, Dick doesn’t like how labored Tim’s breathing is. They have no way of knowing how much blood he’s actually lost, or if there are any internal injuries. It doesn’t help that he probably hasn’t eaten in a while.

It feels like it takes forever, but finally Leslie steps away from Tim, revealing the neat line of stitches on his tail. Cora and Bruce are cleaning the many small cuts on his small body. 

Dick is glad there aren’t many people here. The other assistants are working on cleaning up the netting and blood, and only a few are staring at Tim like he’s a bizarre specimen. They must be new. That doesn’t stop Dick from glaring at them until they look away. Cora is a new assistant too, but they’ve interacted with Dick enough to be slightly more comfortable around mers - they’re still jumpy, but not overly so. 

“The wound isn’t infected,” Leslie says, checking Tim over with some medical equipment Dick can’t name, “but he’ll have to let it rest for at least a week.”

“He can’t go back to the ocean?” Dick asks, his fins flaring. 

Leslie shakes her head. “Not until it’s fully healed. Too much activity can aggravate the wound, and it’s still at risk of infection if he’s not in clean water. That, and the bruising on his gills is too severe for him to safely breathe underwater.”

Dick’s gut clenches. Tim is going to lose his mind - everyone had been hoping they could introduce him to the center slowly, in controlled amounts at his speed, but now...he’s getting thrown right into the deep end. Best case scenario, Tim freaks out a little before calming down. Worst case, he becomes so stressed that he gets sick. 

That’s one of the worst things about being a mer - getting too stressed too quickly can sometimes be fatal, especially for whelps and weaker mers. Of which, Tim is both. 

Hopefully he wakes up _after_ they move him to the recovery pool, where Dick can comfort him away from prying eyes. 

Of course, Tim wakes up as Cora is about to put salve on a rope-burn mark on his cheek. He goes impossibly still as his eyes widen. It doesn’t look like he’s breathing. Dick holds his own breath, hoping Tim will take in the situation and relax. 

Tim _screams._

He lets out a piercing shriek of panic and throws himself backwards, falling off the table. Cora yells themself and stumbles away as Bruce sprints to Tim’s side. 

“It’s okay,” Bruce says, trying to lift Tim back onto the table. Tim is writhing in his grasp, clawing and making that absolutely gut-wrenching sound. “It’s me, it’s Bruce, remember?”

“ _NO!"_ Tim shrieks, shoving at Bruce’s chest. His eyes are wild, catching on the people around him and yet focusing on nothing at all. “ _NO, LET ME - LET ME GO!”_

“Put him down!” Dick yells. He’s leaning so far out of the tank that the edge is digging uncomfortably against the soft scales where his torso meets tail. “Bruce, just fucking put him down and back away!”

Bruce quickly sets Tim on the table and steps back, palms up. Leslie, Cora, and the other assistants have already moved to the wall, and Alfred is hovering in the door. Tim’s making an awful wheezing sound, and he clutches the edge of the table in a white knuckle grip.

“ _Tim,”_ Dick says slowly, reaching a hand towards him, “ _You gotta calm down, pup. Focus on my voice, okay? Breathe.”_

Tim’s gaze finally lands on him. Instead of calming down, he makes a choking noise and somehow seems more panicked. 

“ _I’m sorry,”_ he gasps, “ _they got you too, I’m sorry, I’m sorry -”_

_“No one got me, Tim, or you. We’re both safe in_ Bruce’s...uh... _home."_ There isn’t a merspeak word for ‘research center’.

Tim blinks rapidly and rakes his eyes around the room. They catch on Bruce, who offers a thin smile. “ _His home?”_

_“Yeah. You were hurt, and I brought you here so that they could make you better.”_

It looks like Tim’s breathing is slowing, and he looks slightly less panicked. He hesitantly nods as his back fins rhythmically flare and fold. 

Dick manages a shaky smile. “ _You good now, pup?”_

_“I…”_ Tim’s face crumples and he shakes his head as small, hushed sobs shake his body. He hides his face in his arms as he cries, and it _hurts._ Dick wants nothing more than to comfort him, but he can’t. He’s completely helpless.

“ _It’s okay, Tim, you’re going to be fine. I know it’s scary.”_

_“Who are they?”_ Tim sniffles. He peeks one red-rimmed eye over his arms, and Dick’s heart breaks a little more.

“ _Friends. That -”_ Dick points as he speaks, “ _is_ Leslie Thompkins. _She’s a healer. Next to her is her assistant,_ Cora.”

Tim glances between them, trembling. Cora offers a slow wave as Leslie smiles, and Tim ducks his head again. It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad.

_“Tim, can_ Bruce _take you somewhere else? It’s nowhere bad, I promise - I’ll be able to be there with you.”_

Tim peeks at Bruce and trills nervously. 

_“It’ll only be for a few seconds. You know you can trust him, right? He’s safe.”_

It takes another minute of consideration, but Tim finally nods. Dick could cry from relief. 

“Bruce,” Dick says, “could you take him to the recovery pool? He’s okay with you bringing him there.”

“We haven’t finished treating his wounds,” Leslie protests. Tim visibly tenses at the sound of her voice. 

“You can treat them after I’ve convinced him he’s not in danger. Right now he needs to rest.”

“If it gets infected -”

“It won’t. He’s stressed enough as it is,” Dick snaps. “Another freak-out could kill him.”

That makes Leslie pause. She sighs but thankfully backs off. Tim watches their exchange with wide eyes, looking torn between fear and interest. It turns to undoubted fear as Bruce approaches him.

“Hey, kiddo,” Bruce murmurs, holding out a hand as he slowly comes up to the table. “I’m going to pick you up, alright?”

_“He’s about to pick you up,”_ Dick translates.

Tim curls up tighter, but says in a small voice, “ _Okay.”_

Dick nods to his dad, and Bruce nods back. He slowly - gently - slides his arms under Tim’s chest and tail and lifts. Tim flinches and utters a couple of distressed clicks, but he doesn’t try to wriggle out of Bruce’s arms. He clings to the arm under his chest like a lifeline and his tail instinctively curls around the nearest thing, which happens to be Bruce’s waist.

The assistants scramble out of his way as he brings Tim to the door leading to the recovery room, and Alfred opens the door before neatly stepping to the side. Dick waits until they disappear from view before he darts underwater and through the tunnels. He’s still getting used to the layout, so he has to pause and read the directional signs before making a hard left. 

He swims into the recovery pool right as Bruce is bending down to lay Tim in the shallow water. The pool isn't deep enough for real swimming - grown mers like Dick have to wriggle in order to get around it, but it’s for a good reason. It’s designed with injured gills in mind, so that the hurt mer can rest without worrying about keeping their head above water. There’re a couple of moss cushions on the farthest side from the edge to sleep on. The walls are dark and the lights are dim, providing a soothing ambiance. There’s even a shifting projection of underwater ripples on the walls, ceiling, and floor.

Surprisingly, Tim doesn’t try to get away from Bruce immediately. He lays on his back, staring up at him with something akin to wonder in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes soften in turn. For a moment Dick thinks he’s about to reach out, maybe ruffle Tim’s hair, but the moment passes and Bruce leaves. 

“ _You okay, Tim?”_ Dick asks, slithering across the soft sand lining the bottom of the pool. 

Tim whips around at the sound of his voice, and his face screws up again as fresh tears spill from his eyes. He tries to meet Dick halfway, but as soon as he moves his tail convulses and he cries out in pain.

“ _Oh, pup.”_ Dick finally makes it to him and pulls the poor whelp into his arms, mindful of the injuries. Tim folds into the embrace, sobbing, and each hitch in his breath makes Dick’s heart twinge painfully. He presses a kiss to Tim’s hair and wraps himself around him as best he can, whistling in soothing tones. 

It takes a while for Tim to calm down. His sobs slowly turn into hiccups, and those fade to sniffling. He doesn’t try to pull out of the hug, and Dick is grateful for it - he doesn’t want to let go yet. 

“ _Feeling better?”_ Dick murmurs, running his claws through the fluffy hair on the back of Tim’s head.

Tim nods against his chest. “ _A little. Sorry.”_

_“You have nothing to apologize for. I had been hoping we could bring you here when you were ready, just so that you could check the place out, but… this happened.”_

_“I thought -”_ Tim cuts himself off and clings tighter to Dick. 

“ _You thought…?”_ Dick prompts. 

Tim says, softly enough that it’s barely audible, “ _I thought no one was going to find me.”_

Now Dick is the one fighting back tears. _“I did. I found you, okay? I’ll always find you.”_

Always.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two babey, the people want it I supply it
> 
> **CWs**  
>  _\- descriptions of injury  
>  \- referenced character death  
> \- swears_

“How is he?”

Dick looks up at Bruce as he steps through the doorway, then back down at the little mer he’s curled around. Tim is using his side as a pillow to keep his head out of the water, and he’s finally fallen asleep after what feels like hours. Thankfully, his tail isn’t bleeding all that much anymore, but when he’s up for it Dick figures they should try dressing his wounds. 

“Well, he finally passed out,” Dick says, “but he should be fine. We just scared him really badly, is all.”

Bruce hums and comes over to sit on the carpeted step that rings the pool. He leans on the rim and watches Tim with a pinched expression that Dick knows all too well.

“He’ll be okay, B,” Dick says gently. “We’re not going to lose him.”

The  _ ‘too’  _ goes unsaid.

Bruce doesn’t reply, but the way he briefly closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath speaks for him. Dick can read the regret in his posture, not for… for Jason, but for how he’s been neglecting Tim. Bruce stopped going out on the bay completely, and as a result, Tim was left completely alone until he went to find Dick.

Anything could have happened to him. He could have  _ starved. _

If Dick and his friends hadn’t found him when they did, he  _ would  _ have starved. It was a close thing - he had been dying both of hunger and exhaustion. Then to find out that Tim swam all the way up the coast without rest,  _ all by himself,  _ to tell Dick what had happened. And after all of that, Tim did it for Bruce.

“You know,” Dick says, trying to shake that train of thought, “it just occurred to me that we don’t have a human name for him.”

Bruce nods. “I suppose not.”

“I also have a feeling that you’d butcher the pronunciation of his name _. _ ”

“I did, actually.” The corner of Bruce’s lips twitch. It’s the closest thing to a true smile Dick has seen from him in the month he’s been back. “He got a laugh out of it.”

Dick laughs quietly and runs his claws through Tim’s hair. Tim chirps in his sleep and tightens his tail where it’s wrapped in Dick’s, and the two awake individuals quiet until he falls back into a deeper sleep. 

“I guess we should wait until he wakes up. He’ll want to pick a name himself,” Dick says.

Bruce hums in agreement.

It looks like Dick will be carrying the conversation yet again - he stamps down the flare of irritation before it can build. Bruce is going through a lot right now, Dick knows this. He’s here to help his dad, not make things worse. 

“You’re keeping him, though, right?”

“Keeping him?” Bruce echoes. 

Dick scowls. “C’mon, B, we can’t let him go back to the Drake pod.”

“They’re his family-”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. They’re  _ abusing  _ him, Bruce. Look at him, he’s miserable.”

It’s clear to see that Tim is suffering. He’s smaller than a pup should be his age, and his ribs are visible through his skin. The fact that he doesn’t know a basic skill like hunting doesn’t help his pod’s case - mers are supposed to be taught how to hunt by their entire pod between the ages of eight and ten, and Tim is nearly thirteen. 

A pod that doesn’t value community isn’t a pod at all. Dick is honestly surprised that they didn’t dump Tim in orca territory. 

“I…” Bruce sighs. “We can’t keep him here if he doesn’t want to stay. He can stay here whenever he wants for however long he wants, but that’s all I can do.”

Dick huffs but doesn’t protest further. If it were up to him, he’d squirrel Tim away to a safe corner and keep him safe, but Bruce is right. It’s not up to them, it’s up to Tim. 

He just  _ really  _ doesn’t like how Tim is out in the bay all alone for days on end. To make matters worse, his little cave is near the mouth of the bay, putting him in even more danger. If a hunting boat decides to come recklessly close to the bay, and Tim is near the surface, well… Dick doesn’t want to lose another brother to those damn boats. Never again. 

“I have a feeling he’ll want to stay,” Dick says. “He’s been getting more and more curious about the center.”

“We’ll see.” Bruce sighs again and slowly stands up. “Do you need anything?”

Dick clicks his tongue and glances down at Tim. “Some food would be good - raw fish for him.”

“I’ll be back.” Bruce casts a last, melancholy look at Tim, then leaves. 

Dick relaxes against the moss cushion he’s leaning on and lets his head lean back. In all honesty, he has no idea how to help his dad. Losing Garth ripped a hole in Dick’s heart - experiencing the death of a friend hurts like hell, and that hole hasn’t completely healed yet, but it will. It’s leaving a scar, but it will heal.

To lose a child, though… that’s an unimaginable pain. Dick is pretty sure that never heals, not completely. He can already see Bruce trying to distance himself from Tim in what Dick would guess is some fucked-up attempt to protect himself from the chance of it happening again.

But Dick isn’t going to let that slide, just like how he isn’t going to allow Bruce to withdraw the way he’s trying to. If anything, Tim could help lessen his grief. 

Fuck, this is all so messed up.

Tim drags Dick out of his thoughts by yawning and blinking his eyes open. It’s clear he’s still half asleep from the way he’s not focusing on anything.

_ “Hey, Tim, _ "  Dick says gently, nudging him with a fin. 

There’s a brief moment where confusion clouds Tim’s eyes, but it clears quickly as they widen. He glances around with small, controlled movements.

_ “Hey, it’s okay, _ ”  Dick murmurs, noticing Tim is trembling.  _ “You’re safe, remember?” _

Tim jerks his chin in a nod. 

_ “Good. And you know you’re not in danger here, right?” _

Another nod.

Dick smiles and runs his claws through Tim’s hair, now dry and soft. “Bruce  _ is bringing us something to eat, if you’re up for it.” _

_“I… I guess that would be okay,_ ” Tim says in a small, unsure voice. He slowly lifts himself with his hands, and Dick finds himself missing the comforting pressure on his side. 

_ “After we eat, would you mind if the healers came in to finish taking care of your injuries?” _

Just like that, Tim is on edge again. He freezes as his eyes flick to the door and his fins lay flat. 

_ “It’ll just be  _ Leslie  _ and  _ Cora,  _ the ones from before, _ ”  Dick says,  _ “I promise they just want to help.” _

_ “Do I have to go to that place again?”  _ Tim asks. 

That place? What does he mean by… oh. The table in the medical room. Dick smiles as reassuringly as he can.  _ “Nope. They’ll come here, and you won’t even have to leave the water. I’ll be by your side the entire time.” _

Tim still looks entirely uncomfortable with the concept. It’s not like Dick doesn’t relate - he remembers his first time injured in the center’s care. Most of the bandages used that day were for the wounds he inflicted on himself while panicked and scared. It’s not the best place to wake up in with no warning and no way to communicate. 

_ “If you want, I’m sure I could find a way to convince them to let me or  _ Bruce  _ do it.” _

That makes Tim perk up a little.  _ “If it’s not too much of a bother…” _

Dick ruffles his hair.  _ “You’re never a bother, Timmy.” _

Bruce chooses that moment to step back into the room, his hands full with plates of food. One of them has neat slices of assorted raw fish, and the other has what looks like a sandwich - peanut butter and nutella, hopefully. 

All of the tension that had left Tim during their conversation snaps back like a rubber band. There’s the start of a nervous trill, but he stops making the sound so quickly that Dick isn’t sure if he even heard it. He does notice how Tim shrinks back into the safe pocket Dick’s tail makes.

“Hey, B,” Dick says, running his claws through Tim’s hair and hoping it will help him relax. “Look who’s up.”

Bruce doesn’t smile, but his face softens. He reclaims his place on the carpeted step and puts the plates down.

_ “It’s okay, Tim, _ ”  Dick says, glancing down at his tiny friend. He’s staring at Bruce with wide eyes, though it’s difficult to tell whether or not he’s scared.  _ “You know he’s safe.” _

Slowly, Tim reaches out towards Bruce with his palm facing him, as if asking for a high five. Somehow Bruce’s expression softens even more, and he - just as slowly - presses his palm flat to Tim’s. The size difference in their hands is both endearing and alarming. Tim relaxes a second later as a nervous smile flits across his face.

“Bruce,” he says in a soft tone.

Bruce almost smiles. “Hello.”

Warmth blooms in Dick’s chest at the interaction. He nudges Tim and chirps,  _ “See? Nothing to worry about.” _

“I brought food,” Bruce says gently. He hands the plates to Dick, who whistles in triumph over the fact that the sandwich is indeed nutella and peanut butter. Tim shifts --wincing once or twice --so that he can lean back against Dick’s tail and take the plate that’s handed to him.

Tim shifts his claws on the porcelain with a look of concentration. It takes a full minute of him inspecting the plate before he sniffs the fish.

“F’sh!” he gasps with a smile. 

Dick almost chokes on his first bite of sandwich. He yelps, “He knows English? Bruce, why didn’t you tell me he knows English?”

“He knows  _ some  _ English,” Bruce amends. “Not enough for full sentences.”

Tim watches them talk with curious eyes as he chews on a slice of salmon. 

“Ehish,” he says, nodding solemnly.  _ “It’s a humanspeak dialect.” _

“Oh my god,” Dick whispers, “he’s so cute.” Then, to Tim,  _ “Has  _ Bruce  _ been teaching you?” _

Tim’s easy expression vanishes and he puts down a fish slice. He curls in on himself a little and shrugs one shoulder.  _ “Kind of.” _

Dick almost makes the mistake of prompting further, but then he realizes who else could have taught Tim. He tries not to let it show on his face and plasters on a small smile. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Bruce shutting down again, his expression becoming guarded.

_ “It’s good that you’re learning, _ ”  Dick says, desperate to salvage the moment.  _ “What do you know so far?” _

Tim wrinkles his nose and taps the plate. After a moment, he says, “F’sh, ehish, addloard, osh’n, eye, hello... _ um... _ shurey, yes, no… _ ” _

_ “Is that it?”  _ Dick is already stunned. Sure, Tim is butchering half of the words and Dick can’t make out what they mean, but he knows a lot already.

_ “I can’t remember the rest right now, _ ”  Tim says, ducking his head.  _ “Sorry.” _

_ “You have nothing to apologize for, Tim. Which, segway! Do you want a humanspeak name?” _

Tim lights up with one of the biggest grins Dick has ever seen on him.  _ “Really? I can have one?” _

_ “Of course, pup, _ ”  Dick laughs.  _ “We gotta have a way for  _ Bruce  _ to talk to you.  _ Don’t we, Bruce?”

Bruce blinks away the distant glaze in his eyes and frowns. “Don’t we what?”

“Want our little friend here to have an English name.”

Tim nods, leaning forward and accidentally spilling some fish into the water. “Ehish!”

“He’s really excited,” Dick says. “We can look through names while we get his wounds wrapped - speaking of which, I was wondering if you could do it?”

“Leslie -”

“Scares the shit out of him,” Dick finishes. 

Bruce rubs a hand over his face. “Dick…”

“It’ll be fine, B. He trusts you.”

That’s not the problem. Dick knows it isn’t, but Bruce  _ has  _ to try and heal. It won’t all happen at once, and it’ll take years, but this is the first step. He has to re-associate the feeling of scales with something other than… _that_. 

Bruce’s shoulders slump and he sighs. “Alright. I’ll go get the supplies.”

“Thanks, Bruce. Really.”

All he gets is a grunt before Bruce leaves. Dick watches him go, huffs, and takes a bite of sandwich. It’s a  _ delicious  _ sandwich, might he add - he wouldn’t be surprised if Alfred makes the peanut butter himself. 

_ “Where did Bruce go?”  _ Tim asks around a mouthful of fish. 

_ “He’s going to get the healing stuff. Just him, _ ”  Dick adds quickly,  _ “I promise no one will come back with him.” _

Tim chews a little slower, now watching the doorway with wary eyes. He taps the plate and asks,  _ “What is this called?” _

That wasn’t the question Dick was expecting, but he answers anyway.  _ “It’s a  _ plate.”

“Plut?”

“Yeah, plate.”

Tim mouths the word, then nods, seemingly satisfied. He offers a slice of what looks like tuna.  _ “Do you want some?” _

_“Nah,_ ” Dick takes another bite of his sandwich. _“I’m good - thanks though.”_

_ “What… what’s that?” _

_ “It’s a  _ sandwich.”

“Sanwish. San...wish.” Tim sighs.  _ “I’m bad at this, aren’t I?” _

_ “What? No, you’re doing great, buddy, _ ”  Dick says. “English  _ is tough to get used to. You’re already picking up on it faster than I did.” _

Tim doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue. He plucks the pieces of fish that fell into the pool out of the water and lays them on the plate. They spend the next couple of minutes going over the English names for the fish until Bruce comes in with the special gauze and salve. 

_ “You ready, pup?”  _ Dick asks. 

Bruce is setting the supplies and a tablet by the end of the pool, where there’s a platform submerged just under the water. It’s for the injured occupant to lay on while their wounds are treated without having to leave the pool.

_ “Yes, _ ”  Tim says, not looking the tiniest bit ready. 

Dick puts their plates on the step, then helps Tim cross the pool. Each pained hiss makes Dick flinch, but the pool isn’t deep enough for him to simply pick Tim up and move him. It also takes some maneuvering to get Tim  _ onto  _ the platform, but they manage. 

_ “This, _ ”  Dick says, picking up the bottle of salve,  _ “is to help your wounds stay clean and heal.” _

He lets Tim inspect it for a second. Seemingly satisfied, he nods and hands it back.

_ “And this, _ ”  Dick points to the gauze,  _ “has basically the same use as fish skin.” _

_ “Fish skin?”  _ Tim echoes.  _ “What does it have to do with fish skin?” _

Dick glances at Bruce as concern seeps into his mind.  _ “You don’t… you’ve never treated your wounds with fish skin?” _

_ “Not really. Whenever I get hurt it heals eventually.” _

Dick digs his nails into the soft sand under him and breathes slowly out of his nose, struggling to keep his temper in check. Mer medicine isn’t as advanced as human medicine, but fish skins are widely known to heal wounds and keep them free from infection. For Tim to not know that, it means…

“What is it?” Bruce asks.

“He doesn’t know that fish skins help heal wounds,” Dick snaps. “His parents never fucking treated any injuries he had.”

Bruce closes his eyes, and from the set of his jaw Dick knows he’s pissed. Good, he should be. Everyone should be pissed about this. Not teaching your pup to hunt is one thing, but to make the conscious decision to let their wounds go untreated is.. is… fucking horrific. 

_ “I’m sorry, _ ”  Tim murmurs.

Dick forces himself to look at him, and his heart breaks seeing the worried and confused expression on Tim’s face. Dick lifts himself onto the platform to draw Tim into a gentle hug and sighs.

_ “You did nothing wrong, Tim. We’re not mad at you, I promise.” _

Tim relaxes in his arms.  _ “Oh. Sorry.” _

_ Stop apologizing,  _ Dick wants to say. This kid has nothing to apologize for—it’s not his fault that his parents are severely fucked up. Instead of voicing any of this, though, Dick says,  _ “Do you wanna think about a name while  _ Bruce  _ finishes patching you up?” _

_ “Okay. _ ”  Tim lets him pull away and watches with thinly veiled apprehension as Bruce starts putting salve on a wad of gauze.

_ “All he’s gonna do is put that stuff on your cuts, _ ”  Dick says.  _ “It’ll sting, but he’s not trying to hurt you. In the meantime, I have some ideas.” _

Tim nods, and Dick leans over the edge of the pool to pick up the waterproof tablet. He opens it and navigates to a baby name website, then leans against the platform so that Tim can see the screen too. 

Dick watches Bruce for a moment. He reaches for Tim, who’s watching as well. Bruce hesitates, takes a deep breath, and gently presses the gauze to the one stitched wound. Tim yelps and flinches violently, and Bruce draws back just as quickly. 

“Whoah, hey, he’s fine, B,” Dick says quickly, recognizing the signs of his dad shutting down. He asks Tim,  _ “You’re okay?” _

_ “I-I’m fine, _ ”  Tim says.

_ “Can you tell him that? Say  _ ‘I’m okay.’”

Tim nods, fixes Bruce with an earnest look, and says, “Ahm ohey.”

“See? All good. Bruce.”

Bruce inhales through his nose, holds, and exhales. He nods tightly. This time, he lays his free hand against Tim’s scales as the other one presses the gauze back to the wound. Tim winces, and his tailfins twitch, but he doesn’t recoil. 

_ “You’re doing great, kiddo, _ ”  Dick says, and presses a kiss to Tim’s temple. He holds up the tablet, grinning.  _ “So, how about  _ Alvin?”

Tim wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. He glances at what Bruce is doing as a waterproof gauze patch is sealed over the stitched wound, but his attention quickly returns to the tablet. Dick takes it as a striking display of trust that he doesn’t watch Bruce cleaning the smaller cuts. Tim is barely even flinching. 

Dick can’t help but smile as he suggests more names. Unsurprisingly, Tim shoots each one down. Choosing a human name isn’t an easy endeavor - Dick agonized over his for nearly a week before choosing. Of course, Bruce tried to keep the rather unfortunate nickname of ‘Richard’ from him, and Dick - not knowing the nickname’s connotations - demanded that he be referred to as, well, Dick. He thought it sounded nice. And it does… to a mer’s ears. 

Still, the thought of changing his name has never crossed his mind. The look on humans’ faces when he introduces himself is too priceless to give up.

Eventually, they have to turn Tim around so that Bruce can tend to the other side of his tail. A few minutes later has Tim on his back, looking at the tablet upside down. By this point he’s relaxed entirely, and all of his focus is on the names Dick is reading out loud. 

The only problem comes when Dick tells him that the cuts on his gills need to be cleaned. It’s completely understandable - all mers have issues with their gills being touched. 

“It might be better if you do it,” Bruce says to Dick after a full minute of Tim squirming away from his hands.

_ “Tim, would you be more comfortable if I cleaned your gills?” _ Dick asks.

Tim’s frown is laced with fear.  _ “But… but won’t the, uh… things seal them?” _

Shit. Dick never told Tim that he can’t use his gills until they heal. At all. 

_ “Pup, I need you to stay calm, okay?”  _ Dick starts. It’s the exact wrong thing to say—Tim’s eyes widen, and his breathing immediately starts to come in short gasps.

_ “What’s wrong with them?”  _ Tim trills.  _ “Are they too hurt?” _

_ “Tim -” _

_ “W-Will I ever be able to breathe again? G-Grayson, my pod, my parents… I can’t…” _

_ “Tim!”  _ Dick covers Tim’s shaking hands with his own and presses their foreheads together.  _ “Calm down, pup, you’re gonna be fine. Breathe with me, okay? In, out.” _

Tim inhales a ragged gasp.

_“Good. Again, in, and out…_ ” Dick glances at Bruce out of the corner of his eye. He simultaneously looks like he wants to offer comfort and like he wants to flee the room. Dick blinks slowly at him as a sign that everything is going to be okay, and some tension leaves Bruce’s shoulders. 

Tim calms down after a couple more breaths. Once he’s sure Tim is okay, Dick pulls back and ducks his head so that he can look the pup in the eye.  _ “Tim, you’re going to heal. Until then, though, you can’t use your gills. It’s nothing to worry about.” _

_ “How long?”  _ Tim asks in a small voice.

_ “Given that you don’t try to use them, a week at most. Then you’ll be free to swim.” _

_ “A week… okay. A week is okay.” _

Dick smiles and taps noses with him.  _ “Awesome. So do you want me or Bruce to patch your gills?” _

_ “Um… _ ”  Tim sheepishly glances at Bruce.  _ “I don’t mind if he does it.” _

Dick’s smile widens to a grin and he nods to Bruce. This show of trust is beyond striking, it’s  _ phenomenal.  _ It took Dick a month of nearly constant interaction with Bruce to get where Tim is right now, after only a handful of meetings.

Bruce nods in response and goes back to work. Tim grimaces and trills anxiously at the first light touch, but he doesn’t make any move to wriggle away. The trill turns into a pained whine as the salve-covered gauze presses against his injured gill, and his tail curls in so that the end can wrap around Bruce’s forearm. Dick takes Tim’s hand and tries not to wince in sympathy as Bruce makes a clear effort not to dislodge Tim’s tail. 

_ “I think  _ Tom  _ could be a great name for you, _ ”  Dick says to distract Tim from the pain.

Tim still has his lips pressed into a firm line, but the tilt of his head is considering. In the end, he shrugs one arm.

_ “Something similar, then? How about…  _ um… Tim?”

That gets a quiet noise of approval. Tim seems to brighten a little.

_ “So you like the name  _ Tim? Timothy  _ is the full name.” _

_“I think -_ ” Tim cuts himself off with a short hiss as Bruce peels away the gauze to apply the bandage “ _-I think I like it.”_

“Bruce,” Dick says, already buzzing with excitement, “Bruce, he likes the name Tim.”

The name actually sounds close to Tim’s name in merspeak. Both are short, sweet, and are shortened versions of the full name. It’s perfect. 

For the third time today, Bruce almost smiles as he says, “Tim.”

Tim turns his head to absolutely beam at him, and Bruce’s almost-smile nearly turns into a full one. After a moment’s hesitation, Bruce brushes a hand through Tim’s hair, and the pup leans into the touch.

“I think Tim will do nicely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of fun to write! I love writing Tim when he's still a young, innocent, naive kid. Haha that won't last. Anyway there won't be a 3rd chapter, just fyi. This is all I have for this fic, but there'll be more tiny mer Tim in the future 
> 
> Comments fuel the fire that is my creativity, & ty for reading
> 
> Tie my shoelaces into impossible knots @ [Batshit-Birds](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/batshit-birds) on Tumblr


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